


Katsuki-Nikiforov snapshots

by endlesscloudsoftime



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Mostly Fluff, Yuri is also briefly mentioned, a bit of angst, brief mention of Mari really, one of the ficlets has a death, the teen tag is just a precaution really, was for domesticvictuuriweek on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 13:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13459698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesscloudsoftime/pseuds/endlesscloudsoftime
Summary: A collection of ficlets for the Domestic Victuuri week tag that happened from 8th  Jan - 14th Jan 2018 on Tumblr.





	1. Day 1: Makkachin/Dog Dads (slight) - The Embers Within

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ^.^ I got the urge to start doing YOI prompts that are on tumblr and so decided to go for the Domestic Victuuri week. Each day had a different prompt which were as listed below:  
> Day 1. Makkachin/Dog Dads  
> Day 2. Cooking/Taking Care  
> Day 3. Friends, Family or Alone Time  
> Day 4. Coffee or Cuddles  
> Day 5. Rain, Snow or Shine  
> Day 6. Closeness or Comfort  
> Day 7. Free Day
> 
> This collection of ficlets is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, and are unbeta'd so if you notice any errors whatsoever please do let me know and I'll try my best to fix it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

At 15, Viktor Nikiforov could not have fathomed that the high pitched yips of a curly fluff ball would pull at his heartstrings so frequently and so insistently that the friction would create a heat within his chest, slightly uncomfortable and yet soothing in its expansion. He is hit by this revelation daily, and he physically reels from its impact as soon as his eyes crack open at 06:00. Every morning, without fail, the deep coffee swirls that reside in Makkachin’s eyes summon the warmth and Viktor never thought that he could love something with this intensity.

At 25, Viktor Nikiforov swings his legs off his queen sized bedding and pulls on his jacket only because of the warmth that still rises when he hears Makkachin’s insistent barking, now deepened with age and the patter of her paws on the floor that his heart promptly matches its rhythm to. Nothing else seems to compare when they share gazes, and Viktor feels the hollow the ice carved in his soul slowly fill again.

At 30, Viktor Nikiforov rises to find his room empty, devoid of any sound or life. Frowning, he makes his way to the living room. Each step on the way is accompanied by the lightening of the heavy heart he woke with as he hears murmured whispers and rhythmic panting. Rounding the corner of the hallway, he is greeted with the sight of his husband nosing Makkachin before burying his face in her fur, as curly as it was at 15. Makkachin in turn nuzzles at Yuuri’s neck, the wagging of her tail a steady beat but slower with time. The explosion of soft, warm fireworks of feelings never fails to surprise Viktor even though this has been his daily revelation for over three years. Taking a moment to bask in the expansion that he never thought his chest could contain, Viktor’s frown smooths. He then crosses the room to join his family and revels in the added depth of content-ness that only comes when nestled in between his two favourite things his life could offer.


	2. Day 2: Cooking - Unlikely Foe

_Is our next door neighbour cooking again?!_

Yuuri can’t help the feelings of slight dread and admiration for the first year college student whose flat is right next to theirs. [Yuuri also has to take a moment, even after a year of being married, to absorb the idea that he shares a flat with Viktor Nikiforov of all people] If Yuuri was as bad at putting together a dish as the poor student, he would have resorted to take out within months of trying. Yuuri ‘Stubborn’ Katsuki-Nikiforov [internal whale noises], would give up then. That alone speaks volumes.

To be fair, Yuuri muses, it’s not as bad as it usually is. The charred smell borders just on the lighter side of uncomfortable, and there is not accompanying odour which is always a positive sign. Righting the shoulder straps of his backpack, Yuuri makes his way to his- _their_ \- apartment, only to stop when he realizes that the smell is unmistakably originating from within.

Yuuri frankly thinks that this is absurd.

Despite what the world thinks, Viktor can actually cook edible food. Not just enough to make do, oh no, the man has to make sure that he is a Living Legend in everything because the dishes he produces are worthy of being served in Michelin star restaurants. This has been a point of frustration to Yuuri time and again, beginning from the first breakfast in bed he received. He would never forget the day one of his favourite 13-year old fantasies of making-sure-‘The Victor Nikiforov’-could-only-eat-Yuuri’s-undisputed-superior-homecooked-meals shattered, because Viktor could survive on making a living out of his food and still afford his wardrobe.

Which is why the fact that anything could be burnt to the point that it could be evident to their whole floor is just plain absurd to Yuuri.

Steeling himself, Yuuri opens the door slightly and peeks around the frame.

“Vitya? Makkachin?”

A happy ‘boof’ greets him, but none of the flat’s occupants actually make it to the door, so Yuuri lets himself in, sets everything down while slipping out of his shoes and into his pair of fluffy poodle ones [he couldn’t resist] and makes his way to the kitchen.

What greets him at the door makes him screech to a halt by the frame.

Everything that Viktor’s fans have ever speculated about the state of the kitchen once he has worked his way through it is laid out right in front of his eyes. From splattered cream on the wall to flour coating every surface visible to egg shells scattered across the floor in a manner mimicking the minefields Yuuri saw just the other day in an anime he was watching. There’s an unidentifiable – _‘crap mountain’_ is what Yuuri’s mind helpfully supplies – in one corner, and Makkachin noses at her water bowl that has a smear of cream on the side.

What Viktor’s fans got wrong, though, was Viktor himself. In all the fanfiction that Yuuri has read (and _oh_ has he read many), Viktor is essentially some variant of him standing sheepishly in the kitchen with an apron that could rival one of a waitress’s in a maid café but still proud of being able to create something that could be tasted. And all the Viktors had bright, wide smiles on their faces in every scenario.

His Viktor, Yuuri finds, is propped against the island in the kitchen, seated on the floor in what must have originally been a plain white apron but is now adorned with splatters of cream and beige and brown, a shellshocked look on his face as he stares at the glowing oven door right opposite. He hasn’t even noticed that Yuuri is there.

“Vitya?” tries Yuuri tentatively starting to inch towards him but holding back in fear of ruining his slippers.

This Viktor hears, because his head turns ever so slowly towards Yuuri, and he barely manages a strained, “Yuuri” before tears spill.

Yuuri scrambles to get his slippers off so that he can reach Viktor as fast as he can, but he’s only halfway through when he hears the familiar wail-whine he fondly associates with his husband.

“I failed Yuuri! I wanted to make the best croquembouche and I _failed_. I don’t have a wow factor in me anymore, look at this failure of a husband you have!”

Yuuri gets lost at cro- _what the hell is that_.

Realizing that Viktor is waiting on him, Yuuri clears his throat.

“I’m sorry Viktor, but I don’t understand…”

That is all it takes for Viktor to start. “I was watching this video that I got tagged on by a fan of mine because the thumbnail looked so interesting and so edible and I couldn’t help myself. _Croquembouche,_ Yuuri. How have I never heard of this before? And did you know MasterChef also happens in Australia? Because I didn’t but now I do and they do croquembouche as a challenge and it’s so amazing Yuuri it’s the perfect dessert and I wanted to make it and I can’t and I’m the biggest failure ever!”

Thankful that this wasn’t serious, and exasperated as well, Yuuri sighs.

“And a croquembouche is..?”

Viktor is up and by Yuuri’s side in a flash, phone ready in hand open on a picture that has _grandiose_ labelled all over it, with flowers too. Yuuri can see why Victor was attracted to it (Yuuri is too) and he leans into Viktor, rubbing his palm vertically on his back, “There there. I understand. It looks tough.”

 _“It is!”_ Viktor’s impossibly huge eyes always manage to reel Yuuri in, and now he’s reduced to just listening to him ramble about Masterchef Australia and recurring appearances of croquembouche. When Viktor rounds his speech back to mournfully wailing about his failure, Yuuri puts a finger to his lips, effectively cutting him off.

“Just because you can’t make this croquem-thing-a-ma-jig doesn’t mean you can’t cook. And it definitely doesn’t label you as a failure. Plus, you just told me that everyone in this Masterchef struggles with it and barely manages to do it perfectly, and they are training to be professionals. You are a figure skater-turned-coach. You can take your time to make a perfect dessert, you don’t have to do it today.”

Viktor sniffles and Yuuri knows that the storm’s over. They both then simultaneously turn to look at their disaster of a kitchen. Viktor sighs, “Let me clean this while you go relax. I’ll be out soon.”

“I just spent a day at Yurio’s beating him at Mario Kart. I am relaxed. I’ll help.”

Before Viktor can protest, Yuuri adds, “If we do it fast together, we can both watch and study how croquembouches are made on Masterchef with Makkachin.”

Life rights itself on the railing of the Katsuki-Nikiforov family again.


	3. Day 3: Family - Unparalleled

Viktor hums happily around his breaded pork as he savours the flavours Hiroko’s katsudon never fails to deliver on. He has tried katsudon in the airport, on the way to Hasetsu, and he knows that Hiroko’s is far superior. He may have  _cheated_  on her katsudon once by trying the one from the izakaya’s next door to Nagahama Ramen’s but even then, nothing compared to the Katsuki’s katsudon. Viktor is happy enough with his two other ventures into the land of katsudon to declare himself unbiased in opinion and fit to vote for the Katsuki-katsudon as the lord of the land.

Even if her katsudon is other-worldly, Viktor cannot have the dish every single day but he finds himself happy nonetheless. Between tempura, sashimi, soba and even miso soup, Viktor is as happy as a baby dragon nestled in the warmth of its mother’s wing. And Viktor admits to himself that he views Hiroko as a mother to him, which in turn makes him guilty because in her eyes he’s her son’s coach. A guest that could become a family-friend if fate felt kind. Viktor never dwells on this for too long, and he takes what he gets in stride, prepared to deal with any negative consequences when the time comes. It is Yuuri’s moment now, and if he can make Hiroko happy by extension, he will do it. Anything to help return even a smidge of the comfort he gets when he digs into his weekly katsudon.

Little does he know that Hiroko sits opposite him unabashedly counting Viktor as one of hers, blissed by the content the pure unfiltered joy that resides on Viktor’s face brings. She is as aware of his movements in the inn as she is of Mari’s and Yuuri’s, and she is learning to read Viktor as she reads her children. She knows that Viktor has a penchant for exploration and she never expected him to live by her cooking alone, but she ensures that Viktor’s dishes contain the same ingredient Mari’s and Yuuri’s do so that at the end of it all they gravitate back to the humble dishes of the inn.

 _We’re family after all,_ Hiroko happily thinks as Victor beams ‘Vkusno!’ across the table at her.  


	4. Day 4 and Day 5: Coffee, Cuddles and Snow - Winter's Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have the time to complete the prompts during the week, so I ended up combining Day 4 and Day 5 and finishing it up after the week was done. *shrugs*

 

“Snow will always remind me of the first time you came to Hasetsu,” Yuuri says as he fluffs the pillow with one hand, a cup of coffee dangerously tilting with each soft ‘thump’ punctuating his words.

Viktor barely manages to peel his face off the window and Yuuri can’t help but think that Viktor’s eyes are unrivalled when it comes to the sparkle within them. “Really?”

Yuuri chuckles. “Yeah. I mean it’s not the only thing I’ll think of sure, but it will be one of the first things if not the first.” He receives a squeal of delight in response.

After setting down his cup, which miraculously enough had not spilt any of its contents, Yuuri looks over at his husband, who has once again pressed himself against the balcony door, the glass visibly misting underneath the warmth of his palms and breath. Viktor looked like as if he wanted to absorb all the cold St. Petersburg had to offer and not for the first time did Yuuri wonder who the older of the two was. As Makkachin curls herself at the foot of the couch, Yuuri calls out to Viktor, “Your coffee will get cold and we’ll miss the show, come and sit down now.”

“But Yuuuuri – it’s the  _first snow._ ”

“But Viiiiktor first snows happen every year, and it’s been 15 minutes.”

“First snow is one of the only spells visible to humans, Yuuri, and if you don’t allow enough time for the spell to be effective we will have a very rough winter.”

Yuuri hesitates at that. He was never the kind to be emotionally invested in fairy tales and marrying Viktor has led him to rediscover his childhood from an unexpected angle. He supposes that he should be more ashamed of admitting it, but they have had several debates on the credibility of a nursery rhyme and have exchanged more than a few. Yuuri had initially passed it off as cultural education, but in three months he secretly confessed to Phichit that he really loved how Viktor’s fascination with mythology always quietened the skeptic within him and in turn let him enjoy these things. He never told Viktor this exactly in preparation for situations like the one he was confronted with. Mulling over his limited knowledge in fairytales and folklore, he was sure that this was more likely to be a Viktor thing than a Russian thing. Once he felt confident enough in his guess, he said, “I didn’t know you were the original source for myths in Russia. You should’ve made this one more popular then.”

Viktor laughs, unfazed by being caught out. “Can’t you feel the magic of first snow though? Do you not feel the energy waiting to be expelled? If it’s not magic then how do you explain it Yuuri?”

 _It’s the coffee_ , Yuuri’s mind sardonically provides. He doesn’t feel the need to say it out loud though, because he didn’t want the actual reason for his energy to vanish. Viktor’s eyes brighten and his grin becomes impish, and another trill of energy thrums through Yuuri’s system as he watches his husband finally detach himself from the glass and unceremoniously dump himself by his side. Viktor then proceeds to nuzzle his face on Yuuri’s woolen sleeve and hums in contentment. Yuuri peers over the top of Viktor’s head to longingly gaze at the coffee he made with all the care and love for this human cuddle monster latched on his arm, but the urge to be surrounded by his living breathing heaters wins. Rubbing his cheek on Viktor’s impossibly smooth hair and mindful of the cup in his hand lest Makkachin be unexpectedly drenched, Yuuri revels in the glow his living room suddenly provides.

_There may be some magic in first snow after all._


	5. Day 6: Closeness or Comfort - Comfort

Yuuri barely felt the skin under his fingernails break. He hunched himself further over his knees, bending and folding his body in half, all but tumbling out of the hard plastic chair he was seated on. His mind felt strangely numb, and yet he could feel his discomfort. Along with his guilt.

_You’re not supposed to feel like this now. Not in front of Viktor._

As if being summoned, said person’s shoes appeared in the fringes of Yuuri’s vision immediately followed by the soft gentle touch that his hands always seemed to carry. Viktor slowly prised his interlocked fingers apart, and then took one hand in both of his. “Let’s go home, Yuuri.”

The wobble in his voice was what made Yuuri look up. Although Viktor looked as he always did when in public, there was no mistaking the grief in Viktor’s eyes, the twitch of his lips and the small continuous tremors in his hands. Yuuri wanted to do something,  _anything_ , but he felt locked in place unable to do more than hum his consent.

Not waiting for any other sign, Viktor helped Yuuri up and together they made their way to their car. After making sure Yuuri was safely seated in the passenger seat, Viktor buckled himself in the driver’s seat and headed for home.

Somewhere mid-route, Yuuri’s mind snapped out of its haze and once he registered that they were on the road his head snapped in Viktor’s direction. Noticing this, Viktor smiled but kept his eyes on the road as he said, “It’s okay we’re almost home.” The guilt won the war and engulfed Yuuri, making him lower his eyes and count every single line in the paneling of the glove compartment.

Only when they had crossed the threshold and hung their coats up did Yuuri finally take things into his hands. He tugged Viktor by the lining of his shirt to their living room couch, and once he made sure the wide-eyed Viktor was seated comfortably he squeezed him as tight as possible.

“Cry, Viktor. You haven’t cried.” Yuuri’s breath caught before he could say more.

Viktor chuckled, the vibrations striking a chord in Yuuri. “I guess it hasn’t hit me yet. Plus, you’ve cried enough for the both of us today, Yuuri.” Drawing back slightly, he raises his hand to Yuuri’s cheek, the touch feather-light. “You’re crying even now.”

“I’ll stop when you’ll start.” Yuuri couldn’t contain the big sob that racked his body. “I want to be the one comforting you. You need it more!”

A warmth nestled itself in Viktor’s eyes, and they finally misted. “That’s not true. We both need it equally. Plus, you doing this is comforting enough.”

Yuuri was aware that Viktor wasn’t being entirely honest, but given the circumstances he knew it was more of a self preservation tactic than anything else. The gratitude welled up within him, and he felt a little sick from the selfish realization that he wanted to be comforted more than to comfort at that moment. They then spent the rest of the evening on the couch, with Viktor clutching on to Yuuri and Yuuri wailing into Viktor’s shoulder.

Three days later, Yuuri was glad that he could finally take care of Viktor properly when he woke to his husband audibly sobbing over what used to be Makkachin’s favourite bowl, filled with her breakfast.


	6. Day 7: Free Day - Domesticity

“Yuuri, could you pass my phone please?”

Yuuri looks up from the cup of tea he was absently peering into at the sound of Viktor’s voice. “Sure. Do you know where it is?”

“Probably on our bedside table? I’m not too sure.”

Yuuri allows the fond smile he had been holding back all morning to make a brief appearance as he watched Viktor practically dive into the paper in front of him. The surrounding papers and post-it notes set the background for a scholastic scene, and no matter how familiar he becomes with Viktor, Yuuri will always find him an ethereal vision.

Finding the phone on top of the chest of drawers in their room, Yuuri swiped it off the wooden top and headed for the dining table, only pausing for a second to admire the collage of photos that adorned the chest. When Yuuri got close enough for Viktor to feel his presence, Viktor looked up and smiled in gratitude, hand reaching for the phone. As their fingertips brushed, Yuuri was suddenly struck with the realisation that this was his new normal. Having the Viktor Nikiforov sitting on _their_ dining table surrounded by an avalanche of papers was his new normal. Interlacing hands with Viktor Nikiforov every afternoon on the way back from practice was the new normal. Sputtering over Russian and having Viktor fumble over Japanese on Sunday evenings was his new normal. Heated kisses in the dark and slow warm kisses in the morning were his new normal.

Not being out of place in the ethereal setting his husband is always in is his new normal.

The realization has never been this intense for Yuuri. Viktor goes back to choreographing the programs he suddenly got inspired to flesh out and Yuuri goes back to his cup of _genmaicha._ Although left a little gobsmacked, Yuuri is mostly bursting with happiness as he embraces this new normal like he always does when he has these little moments.

He wouldn’t mind if this normal lasted forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm done! But not with writing, oh no. Even though I wasn't able to complete these during the week, I thoroughly enjoyed writing them and I'm going to participate in upcoming ones as well! I would be grateful if you could let me know what you think but if not it's okay - I hope you enjoy these as much as I did making them ^.^ 
> 
> Also here's my tumblr, just in case you'd like to see the different things I reblog/post : endlesscloudsoftime.tumblr.com


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